The Scarecrow (30 page)

I went to the website for Allmand, Bradshaw and Ward and scrolled to the bottom of the homepage. There it was.

Site Design and Optimization by
Western Data Consultants

I had confirmed the connection but not the specifics. The two law firms used Western Data to design and host their websites. I needed to know if the firms were also storing their case files on Western Data servers. I thought about a plan for a few moments and then opened my phone to call the firm.

“Allmand, Bradshaw and Ward, can I help you?”

“Yes, can I speak to the managing partner?”

“I will put you through to his office.”

I waited, rehearsing my lines, hoping this would work.

“Mr. Kenney’s office, can I help you?”

“Yes, my name is Jack McEvoy. I’m working with William Schifino and Associates and I’m in the process of setting up a website and data storage system for the firm. I’ve been talking to Western Data down in Arizona about their services and they mentioned Allmand, Bradshaw and Ward as one of their clients here in Vegas. I was wondering if I could talk to Mr. Kenney about how it has been working with Western Data.”

“Mr. Kenney is not in today.”

“Hmmm. Do you know if there’s anybody else I could talk to there? We were thinking about pulling the trigger on this today.”

“Mr. Kenney is in charge of our firm’s web presence and data colocation. You would need to speak to him.”

“Then you do use Western Data for colocation? I wasn’t sure if it was just for the website or not.”

“Yes, we do, but you will have to speak to Mr. Kenney about it.”

“Thank you. I will call back in the morning.”

I closed the phone. I had what I needed from Allmand, Bradshaw and Ward. I next called
Daly & Mills
back and went through the same ruse, getting the same backhand confirmation from an assistant to the managing partner.

I felt that I had nailed the connection. Both of the law firms that had represented the Unsub’s two victims stored their case files at Western Data Consultants in Mesa. That had to be the place where Denise Babbit and Sharon Oglevy crossed paths. That was where the Unsub had found and chosen them.

I shoved all the files back into my backpack and started the car.

On the way to the airport I called Southwest Airlines and bought a round-trip ticket that left LAX at one o’clock and would get me into Phoenix an hour later. I next booked a rental car and was contemplating the call I would need to make to my ace, when my phone started buzzing.

The screen said private caller and I knew it was Rachel finally calling me back.

“Hello?”

“Jack, it’s me.”

“Rachel, it’s about time. Where are you?”

“At the airport. I’m coming back.”

“Switch your flight. Meet me in Phoenix.”

“What?”

“I found the connection. It’s Western Data. I’m going there now.”

“Jack, what are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you. Will you come?”

There was a long delay.

“Rachel, will you come?”

“Yes, Jack, I’ll come.”

“Good. I have a car booked. Make the switch and then call me back with your arrival time. I’ll pick you up at Sky Harbor.”

“Okay.”

“How did the OPR hearing go? It seemed like it went really long.”

Again, a hesitation. I heard an airport announcement in the background.

“Rachel?”

“I quit, Jack. I’m not an agent anymore.”

W
hen Rachel came through the terminal exit at Sky Harbor International, she was pulling a roller bag with one hand and carrying a laptop briefcase with the other. I was standing with all the limo drivers holding signs with their arriving passengers’ names on them and I saw Rachel before she saw me. She was looking back and forth for me but not paying attention to what or who was directly in front of her.

I stepped into her path and she almost walked into me. Then she stopped and relaxed her arms a little bit without letting go of her bags. It was an obvious invitation. I stepped up and pulled her into a tight hug. I didn’t kiss her, I just held her. She bowed her head into the crook of my neck and we said nothing for possibly as long as a minute.

“Hi,” I finally said.

“Hi,” she said back.

“Long day, huh?”

“The longest.”

“You okay?”

“I will be.”

I reached down and took the handle of the roller bag out of her grasp. Then I turned her toward the exit to the parking garage.

“This way. I already got the car and the hotel.”

“Great.”

We walked silently and I kept my arm around her. Rachel had not told me a lot on the phone, only that she had been forced to quit to avoid prosecution for misuse of government funds—the FBI jet she had taken to Nellis in order to save me. I wasn’t going to push her for more information but eventually I wanted to know the details. And the names. The bottom line was that she had lost her job coming to save me. The only way I was going to be able to live with that was if I somehow tried to set it straight. The only way I knew how to do that was to write about it.

“The hotel’s pretty nice,” I said. “But I only got one room. I didn’t know if you wanted—”

“One room is perfect. I don’t have to worry about things like that anymore.”

I nodded and assumed she meant that she no longer had to worry about sleeping with someone who was part of an investigation. It seemed that no matter what I said or asked, I was going to trigger thoughts about the job and career she had just lost. I tried a new direction.

“So are you hungry? Do you want to get something to eat or go right to the hotel or what?”

“What about Western Data?”

“I called and set up an appointment. They said it had to be tomorrow because the CEO is out today.”

I checked my watch and it was almost six.

“They’re probably closed now, anyway. So tomorrow at ten we go in. We ask for a guy named McGinnis. He apparently runs the place.”

“And they fell for the charade you told me you were going to pull?”

“It’s not a charade. I have the letter from Schifino and that makes me legit.”

“You can convince yourself of anything, can’t you? Doesn’t your paper have some kind of code of ethics that prevents you from misrepresenting yourself?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a code but there are always gray areas. I’m going undercover to get information that cannot be gathered any other way.”

I shrugged as if to say, no big deal. We got to my rental car and I loaded her bag in the trunk.

“Jack, I want to go there now,” Rachel said as we got in the car.

“Where?”

“Western Data.”

“You can’t get in without an appointment and our appointment’s tomorrow.”

“Fine, we don’t go in. But we can still case the joint. I just want to see it.”

“Why?”

“Because I need something to take my mind off what happened today in Washington. Okay?”

“Got it. We’re going.”

I looked up Western Data’s address in my notebook and plugged it into the car’s GPS. Soon we were on a freeway heading east from the airport. Traffic moved smoothly and we were to Mesa after two freeway changes and twenty minutes of driving.

Western Data Consultants
loomed small on the horizon on McKellips Road on the east side of Mesa. It was in a sparsely developed area of warehouses and small businesses surrounded by scrub brush and Sonora cacti. It was a one-story, sand-colored building of block construction with only two windows located on either side of the front door. The address number was painted on the top right corner of the building but there was no other sign on the facade or anywhere else on the fenced property.

“Are you sure that’s it?” Rachel asked as I drove by the first time.

“Yeah, the woman I made the appointment with said they had no signs on the property. It’s part of the security—not advertising exactly what they do here.”

“It’s smaller than I thought it would be.”

“You have to remember, most of it is underground.”

“Right, right.”

A few blocks past the target, there was a coffee shop called
Hightower Grounds
. I pulled in to turn around and then we took another pass at Western Data. This time the property was on Rachel’s side and she turned all the way in her seat to view it.

“They’ve got cameras all over the place,” she said. “I count one, two, three… six cameras on the outside.”

“Cameras inside and out, according to the website,” I responded. “That’s what they sell. Security.”

“Either the real thing or the appearance of it.”

I looked over at her.

“What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged.

“Nothing, really. It’s just that all those cameras look impressive. But if nobody is on the other end looking through them, then what do you have?”

I nodded.

“Do you want me to turn around and go by again?”

“No, I’ve seen enough. I’m hungry now, Jack.”

“Okay. Where do you want to go? We passed a barbecue place when we got off the freeway. Otherwise, that coffee shop back there is the only—”

“I want to go to the hotel. Let’s get room service and raid the minibar.”

I looked over at her and thought I detected a smile on her face.

“That sounds like a plan to me.”

I had already set the address for the Mesa Verde Inn into the car’s GPS device and it took us only ten minutes to get there. I parked in the garage behind the hotel and we went in.

Once we got to the room, we both kicked off our shoes and drank Pyrat rum out of water glasses while sitting side by side and propped against the bed’s multiple pillows.

Finally, Rachel let out a long, loud sigh, which seemed to expel many of the frustrations of the day. She held her almost empty glass up.

“This stuff is good,” she said.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had it before. It comes from the island of Anguilla in the British West Indies. I went there on my honeymoon—a place called Cap Juluca. They had a bottle of this stuff in the room. A whole bottle, not these little minibar servings. We motored through that whole thing in one night. Drinking it straight, just like this.”

“I don’t want to hear about your honeymoon, you know?”

“Sorry. It was more like a vacation, anyway. It was more than a year after we actually got married.”

That killed the conversation for a while and I watched Rachel in the mirror on the wall across from the bed. After a few minutes she shook her head as a bad thought crept in.

“You know what, Rachel? Fuck ’em. It’s the nature of any bureaucracy to eliminate the freethinkers and doers, the people they actually need the most.”

“I don’t really care about the nature of any bureaucracy. I was a god-damn FBI agent! What am I going to do now? What are we going to do now?”

I liked that she had thrown the
we
in there at the end.

“We’ll think of something. Who knows, maybe we pool our skills and become private eyes. I can see it now. Walling and McEvoy, Discreet Investigations.”

She shook her head again but this time she finally smiled.

“Well, thanks for putting my name first on the door.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re the CEO. We’ll use your picture on the billboards, too. That’ll really bring in the business.”

Now she actually laughed. I didn’t know if it was the rum or my words but something was cheering her. I put my glass down on the bed table and turned to her. Our eyes were only inches apart.

“I’ll always put you first, Rachel. Always.”

This time she placed her hand on the back of my neck and pulled me into the kiss.

After we made love, Rachel seemed invigorated while I felt completely spent. She jumped up from the bed naked and went to her roller bag. She opened it up and started looking through her belongings.

“Don’t get dressed,” I said. “Can’t we just stay in bed for a little while?”

“No, I’m not getting dressed. I got you a present and I know it’s in here some—Here it is.”

She came back to the bed and handed me a little black felt pouch I knew came from a jewelry store. I opened it up and out came a silver neck chain with a pendant. The pendant was a silver-plated bullet.

“A silver bullet? What, are we going after a werewolf or something?”

“No, a
single
bullet. Remember what I told you about the single-bullet theory?”

“Oh… yeah.”

I felt embarrassed by my inappropriate attempt at humor. This was something important to her and I had trampled on the moment with the stupid werewolf line.

“Where’d you get this?”

“I had a lot of time to kill yesterday, so I was walking around the District and went into this jewelry store near FBI headquarters. I guess they know their neighborhood clientele because they were selling bullets as jewelry.”

I nodded as I turned the bullet in my fingers.

“There’s no name on it. You said the theory was that everybody’s got a bullet out there with someone’s name on it.”

Rachel shrugged.

“It was a Sunday and I guess the engraver was off. They said I’d have to come back today if I wanted to put anything on it. I obviously didn’t get the chance.”

I opened the clasp and reached up to put it around her neck. She lifted a hand to stop me.

“No, it’s yours. I got it for you.”

“I know. But why don’t you give it to me when it’s got your name on it?”

She thought about that for a moment and then dropped her hand away. I put the chain around her neck and clasped it. She looked at me with a smile.

“You know what?” she asked.

“What?”

“I’m really starving now.”

I almost laughed at the abrupt change in direction.

“Okay, then let’s order room service.”

“I want a steak. And more rum.”

We ordered and both of us were able to get showers in before the food arrived. We ate in our hotel bathrobes while sitting across from each other at the table the room service waiter had rolled into the room. I could see the silver chain on Rachel’s neck but the bullet had been tucked inside her thick, white robe. Her hair was wet and completely uncombed and she looked good enough to eat for dessert.